I'm cleaning out docs at work and I found a neat little ditty I must've transcribed right after this last frucon. I don't remember exactly why we started singing it, but that last line in the verse stems from a very silly evening.
You�re the last of a breed, the endangered Fruhead
Piled up watching videos on somebody�s bed
A convention was planned, a convention was held
There�s a new notch on your belt.
From sheer lack of sleep, you feel high as a kite,
No chance of getting any words right
Mr. Jones, Mr. Tate, Mr. Larson�
There�s a lovely tenderloin waiting to be stuffed,
There�s a psycho host who�d prefer Dave in the buff
Dancin� round the kitchen with the pork in her hand,
Now you�ve nearly lost command,
From sheer lack of sleep, you feel high as a kite,
No chance of getting any words right
Mr. Jones, Mr. Tate, Mr. Larson�
